Miracles do exist
by niccccc
Summary: Post Reichenbach, 8 months later. John can't move on after Sherlocks death, he tries to cope with everything including the fact that he never had the chance to tell his friend how he really felt about him. But then a long missed visitor arrives at 221B at night.
1. Chapter 1

this is my very first fanfic so reviews are very welcome! english is not my first language, so i'm sorry if this contains any grammar mistakes or anything (do please tell me if you find them :')), and yesss there is going to be johnlock

oh yes and i don't own sherlock or john or anything from this story, all the credit goes to BBC's sherlock and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, enjoy!

It was raining in London. Baker Street was full of people trying to get to their destinations, whatever those were, as soon as possible. It was summer and 7 in the evening but the sky had a deep grey color, and combined with the rain that made it seem like at least october or november.

The rain was pouring down out of the sky as if it would never stop, delaying people and traffic in London.

This , John Watson observed as he looked out of the window of his flat at 221B. Standing there, leaning on his cane, he thought about the things Sherlock Holmes would say. Probably something similar to "Look at them, John. All dashing around and hurrying because of their 'jobs' and their other so-called 'privileges'. All quite dull and pathetic if you ask me."

A little smile formed on Johns lips at the thought, which was quickly followed by tears welling up in his eyes. He quickly blinked them away and wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

He turned around, now facing the living room of his flat. He glanced around.

It now had been 8 months, 2 weeks and 5 days and even though nothing of the interior of the flat had changed, the place was completely different now. The atmosphere was cold and depressing, and seemed nothing like how it had been before. There was almost nothing left of former 221B, that place seemed gone. "For good" John thought, trying to suppress that thought at the same moment. He sighed and stumbled in the direction of the kitchen to make himself some tea.

John had thought about moving out shortly after Sherlocks death, but had suppressed that thought, too almost immediately. Moving out would mean that he would be completely on his own again. He was alone already, but living in 221B with all the stuff Sherlock had owned still in its proper place almost made it seem like a part of his friend was still there. His smell still lingered in the flat, mixed with a vague smell of chemicals. All the equipment he used to use for his experiments still stood on the kitchen table, untouched. It almost seemed like he could just come storming through the front door with something from the mortary to do some kind of funny experiment with. Not talking for hours as John would watch him curiously doing his thing.

Like this John tried to keep his friend alive, even if it was all in his head. He liked the idea of his flatmate just being gone for a while doing some shopping at the grocery store, or imagining him being at Scotland Yard, solving some crime puzzle or anything.

This, John Watson was more willing to tell himself than to face the truth, which was that he once again was completely and utterly alone with something of him missing that never could be replaced.

Lestrade had offered to store Sherlocks stuff at a safe place. "Because of the memories, maybe." he'd said. Of course John had thanked him and declined his offer, saying that he didn't want anything that had belonged to Sherlock moved from 221B.


	2. Chapter 2

wellll hello

i'm having an awful lot of reichenbach feels rn so i just had to make another chapter of john expressing his feelings and missing sherlock and everything but the "long missed visitor" will definitely appear in the next chapter! Enjoy!

Now John was just sitting at the kitchen table, sipping from the tea he'd made. He started overthinking everything he wished he could've told Sherlock for the thousandth time.

How much he'd loved him as a friend, and even more. How thankful he was to him because he had come into his life at just the right moment and had made John feel happier and more alive than ever.

Johns feelings for Sherlock were definitely more than friendship, even though at first John barely had noticed them. He had suppressed it, thinking it was just friendship because he never had had a real friend didn't really know what friendship felt like. And so it had to be that at the moment he had seen his friend standing on the roof of St. Barts Hospital, having him on the phone, blind panic flowing through him, he had known for sure. It had been then that everything he had felt at first had made sense at once. But then it had been too late. Moments after Johns realization Sherlocks lifeless body was already laying on the pavement. No pulse. His eyes that always had looked so bright and clever now dead and staring into nothingness.

At that moment it felt like Johns entire world had crushed down on him and for a moment he'd thought he'd go mad. But what he'd felt was true, Sherlock Holmes was his world. His whole world that had been roughly ripped away from him at once, without any warning.

John missed his friend so much. Every day since had been a struggle. Not wanting to get up in the morning. Not being able to sleep at night or having nightmares of Sherlock falling and seeing his lifeless body laying on the street all over again. Staying inside all day mostly, not seeing a reason to leave the the flat.

He hadn't written anything on his blog in what seemed like ages and saw no reason why he should. Lestrade did still ask if he wanted to help him with a case every now and then, but John knew it was meant more as a distraction than Lestrade actually needing his help. Anyway, he appreciated it and sometimes he would turn up at a crime scene. Even though it absolutely wasn't the same without Sherlock, it would keep his mind off things for a little while.

John thought about making some supper, but he realized he wasn't hungry. He barely ever ate, and if he did it was because Mrs. Hudson forced him to. John had noticed that she missed Sherlock as much as he did. She wasn't as cheerful as she used to be and it didn't matter how much she seemed to try to act normal, John could see she was having a hard time too.

His landlady did support him, and was about the only person close to a friend John had left. He did the same with her, because they were both going through a tough time and it was all just enough to keep John going, something he honestly had to force himself to every day.

If he just could tell Sherlock everything he'd kept from him all the time. How much he loved it when the man startled everyone with his fantastic deductions, leaving them all as impressed as himself. His curly hair that always looked so adorable when he shook his head, and of course his eyes that always looked so bright and clever. "Adorable, really John?" John said to himself as he shook his own head and smiled to himself.

John loved him, if he only could just tell him that. He didn't care how Sherlock would react and how he would probably tell him once again that he was still "married to his work". John just wanted him to know.

The doctor once again pushed his thoughts away, grabbed his cane, stood up, and walked towards the couch. He laid down in a position that allowed his leg to rest and after that he grabbed the nearest book he could find.

John began to read and after a long time he slowly started slipping away in dreams filled with his thoughts and scenarios from his book.


	3. Chapter 3

alllllright i'm just saying there will be johnlock in this chapter, enjoy!

oh yes and by the way, my holidays are coming to an end tomorrow (omg yes back to school!1!1!) so maybe i will be posting less frequently. anyway, if you post a review (or have posted one) i want to thank you and once again, enjoy!

John awoke from his dreams by a loud ring. At first he thought he'd dreamt it and tried to go back to sleep. But then it sounded again. The doorbell.

He got up and stumbled towards the window. It was completely dark outside except from the little light that came from the street lanterns. John pressed his head against the window and tried to look at whoever was standing at the front door, but he couldn't see anything from his position. He turned away and looked at his phone. It was 2:24 AM. John wondered what anyone could possibly want from him at this hour. Perhaps it was Lestrade? Or maybe Mrs. Hudson who had forgotten her keys? But then again, his landlady never came home at this hour.

For the 3rd time, the doorbell rang. "Bloody hell, I'm coming." John mumbled. He grabbed his cane and started walking towards the door, down the stairs. He discovered that he was strangely nervous, even though he couldn't figure out why. There was something wrong, and John strongly began to wonder who was at the front door of his flat in the middle of the night.

Lost in his thoughts, John started walking through the hallway that led to the front door of 221B. He turned on some light and as he reached the door it he unlocked it, and swung it open.

John nearly fainted and he definitely would have if two arms hadn't grabbed him by his shoulders and kept him standing. He looked up and for a moment it seemed like the world stood still. Time stopped and nothing moved as John stared into two piercing blue eyes full of worry and relieve. He wanted to say something, but his lips didn't manage to form words. He could only stare into those eyes that belonged to no one else than his best friend, Sherlock Holmes.

At some moment John managed to whisper "Sh-Sh… Sherlock-k". His friend looked at him and seemed glad that John had said something. "I'm here, John. I'm here. I'm not gone. I'm sorry. I need to explain a lot but first-. Sherlock didn't manage to end his sentence because a pair of lips dismissed him from saying another word. He heard something like a stick fall that had to be Johns cane. He then felt two arms slide around his neck and from that moment it seemed like the only thing that mattered was Johns lips pressed against his and his hands softly stroking his hair.

A strange feeling of warmth Sherlock never had experienced before came over him and not sure about what he was doing, he kissed back.

John seemed to like it because he immediately responded by deepening the kiss and so they stood there, holding each other like they would never let go again.

None of them would have known how long they had stood there, but after an amount of time that could have been seconds, minutes, or hours, Sherlock broke the kiss and wrapped his arms around John more tightly. _His _John, he thought. It felt like everything made sense now, because even though he thought he was incapable of feelings, since he had met John Watson he constantly had felt _something_. Something he had never felt before and had tried to suppress, thinking it was nothing. Something that made him want to protect his friend constantly and causing him to care way too much than he was used to. But standing there now, with his best friend in his arms, he felt more home and happy than he had ever felt and he could only deduce that what he had been feeling was love.

For some reason he smiled at that idea. The great sociopath Sherlock Holmes in love. Could it be any more unexpected and strange?

Finally, John breathed "I missed you, you prick". His friend smiled at him. "I missed you, too. I was completely lost without my blogger."


	4. Chapter 4

Well hello! First of all I wanted to say thank you to the people who followed me for their follow :'). Annnnd here will still be johnlock in this chapter and there will be spoken of some traumatic events. 

If some things are a little out of character, I'm sorry! Oh and yes like I said before, school has started blah blah blah so you may have to wait a little while for the next chapter, but I promise I'll do my best to catch up soon! Enjoy!

(by the way i have no idea where i'm going with this story so i'll just surprise myself)

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson had made their way upstairs. John had made them some tea and now they had settled themselves on the sofa. John curled up against Sherlock, his head resting on his friends chest. Sherlock with his arm around John, stroking his hair softly with his hand.

Like that they sat there for minutes, saying nothing, only enjoying each others presence.

John still couldn't believe that his friend had actually returned, that he was actually laying on his chest that was moving up and down calmly and that they had actually just kissed and Sherlock actually felt the same for John as John felt for Sherlock.

He also knew that they had a lot to talk about, and that one of them had to say something at some point. But none of them wanted to end the silence, and both of them wished the moment could last forever. Everything seemed to be okay like this. Sherlock listening to Johns breathing pattern and John utterly relaxed because of the feeling of Sherlocks hand stroking his hair.

And after an amount of time that should've been hours, both the detective and the doctor fell fast asleep. Save in each others arms.

_"Goodbye, John."_

_Again John saw his friend jump, saw him falling all the way down. Again he heard the sound of cracking bones when he hit the pavement hard. Again he saw his lifeless body laying there, his eyes that had once been so bright and alive now dead staring into nothingness. _

_John wanted to scream, he wanted to cry and go crazy, but he couldn't move. He just stood there, only being able to watch as paramedics arrived at the scene and drove his best friend away. _

_He noticed he could move now. He could speak again._

_"No, no, no, no, no, no, no!"_

_"SHERLOCK!"_

"John! Wake up, can you hear me? Wake up, you're dreaming!"

John slowly came back to reality. The first things he noticed were two hands on his face, and two concerned eyes staring at him. Then he noticed he was still lying on the sofa and his heart was beating unbelievably fast. Slowly the memories of his dream started to come back, followed by the things that had happened the night before. He looked out of the window. It was still mostly dark outside, but the sky was slowly turning from black to grey and John figured that it had to be early in the morning.

Sherlock noticed his friend had woken up and continued "John, are you okay? What were you dreaming of?". John clearly heard the concern in his voice.

While holding his friends face in his hands, Sherlock took a good look at John. He noted his reaction to the dream he just had. Clearly one he had had before. Multiple times before. Obviously something involving him. John had never had disturbing dreams when he had lived with Sherlock, so this had begun when he had been gone. He also saw his bloodshot eyes. Sleep deprivation and constant tiredness. Judging Johns skin Sherlock noted a lack of vitamins, and a lack of food in general, what was obvious because of the amount of weight John had lost.

The detective was pulled back to reality by Johns voice, which was sounding very awake now.

"Sher-Sherlock, it was you. It was you again. You were falling. I-I couldn't stop you. You were dead again and I saw you laying there all over again and…" His voice broke and John just couldn't hold it any longer. He had hardly ever cried in his life, but now he completely broke down. It was like all the sadness and loneliness he had felt in the past eight months all came out at once and now he was sobbing like he would never stop.

At the sight of his best friend like this, Sherlock experienced a feeling he had never experienced before that could only be described as absolutely horrible and he felt so angry with himself because of leaving John like this for so long without saying a word. Without telling his friend a thing. Not even being sure if he would ever see him again.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around his friend tightly. At first he wasn't sure that was what John wanted, but he immediately responded to Sherlocks touch by clinging onto him in dear life and sobbing into the detectives shirt that was soaked by his tears in seconds. Sherlock placed his head on Johns, which made the doctor feel safe.

"It's okay. I'm not leaving you anymore. It will all be fine. You will be fine. We will be fine."

John slowly started to calm down by Sherlocks words and touch. He noticed how tight he was holding onto Sherlock and he loosened his grip. It struck him that his friend may be thinking of him as an over-sensitive idiot right now and felt slightly ashamed.

As if Sherlock had read his mind he said "It's fine, John. Let's go to bed. This sofa isn't the most comfortable place to sleep." , his words followed by a little smile. John nodded and they both stood up. He honestly didn't want to. He didn't want to go to his own bed by his own. He wanted to sleep next to Sherlock where he felt safe, but he didn't want to bother his friend by asking him if he could sleep in his room, he wasn't a child anymore after all.

But Sherlock noticed this as he always did and grabbed Johns arm, pulling him to his room.

Sherlock and John fell asleep, curled up next to each other, listening to each others breathing and feeling each others warmth.

None of them had a single nightmare that night.


	5. Chapter 5

well that's a new chapter, there you are. I have no idea what to think of this, but anyway enjoy! :')

By the way I still don't own anything haaaaa

John Watson slowly awoke of the feeling of something tickling his face. He opened his eyes and was greeted by a bush of brown curly hair that belonged to Sherlock Holmes, who was laying next to him. Sherlocks hair smelled like shampoo with a trace of chemicals and John realized how much he had missed that smell. The detective was still sleeping, and John suddenly became aware of the fact that he had never seen him sleep. Honestly, he thought Sherlock looked adorable with his eyes closed, his messy hair, and that little smile on his lips. He looked happy, and John had never thought he'd see his friend look happy.

He also noticed that Sherlock was snuggled up next to him, as close as he could possibly be, and that he had consciously or unconsciously grabbed Johns hand in his sleep, which he was holding now. John smiled happily and decided he would make them some breakfast and bring it upstairs. He carefully took his hand out of Sherlocks, trying not to wake him. He then placed a small kiss on his forehead, put on one of Sherlocks dressing gowns that was way too long for him, and made his way to the living room.

John opened the curtains. It was still the same grey cloudy weather as it had been all summer, but at the moment it had stopped raining. He took a moment to observe Baker Street as it was and glanced at his watch. 11:17 AM. It was Saturday, and even though most people were still at home at this hour, Baker Street was already full of Londoners racing around on their way to the store, their work, or their other responsibilities.

Eventually he turned away, and made his way to the kitchen. Here John began to make breakfast for himself and Sherlock, and in the meantime he thought about how he had to begin a conversation with his friend about everything that had couldn't be happier that Sherlock was back, that he could finally see him again, and that they were… boyfriends? But he needed to know how he'd done it, and why it had took him so long, and why he hadn't told his bloody best friend anything. There were so many questions John still had to ask Sherlock. It dazzled him, and he decided he'd just ask them all right away when they would've finished eating.

When John had finished making two plates with some toast, scrambled eggs, and two cups of coffee he wanted to make his way back to Sherlocks room, but suddenly remembered something. He put down the tray on which he'd put their plates and went searching for sugar.

A smile appeared on his lips as he put two sugars in one coffee cup.

As he walked into Sherlocks room, John saw that he was still sleeping, although looking not so adorable as he had been when John had left. He was now laying completely spread out on the bed and there was blanket all over the place. His mouth was hanging open a little, and he was snoring. John snorted at this sight of the always-so-serious sociopath Sherlock Holmes laying in such a ridiculous position.

He put down the tray on Sherlocks bedside table, and climbed into his bed.

"Sherlock, wake up. I've made you breakfast." John said, softly patting the detectives head. Sherlock grunted, turned his head a little, and then continued snoring. John smirked. "Er, Sherlock, if you want any breakfast you'll have to wake up. It's late, and I thought you "didn't do sleeping" anyway." Sherlock grunted again, and this time John placed a small kiss on his lips. "Come on now, wake up." John followed a little louder, and he gave a small pull on Sherlocks sleeve. Effectively. The detective half-opened his eyes and mumbled something that sounded like "It's not the farmer, you idiots. There were clearly traces of phosphor on the goats paws and that indicates..." "Sherlock!" John half-shouted. Sherlocks eyes now flew open and he sat straight up, looking rather dazzled, but immediately turning his attention to John. "What? John! What's wrong? Did you have a nightmare?" John rolled his eyes. "No, Sherlock. I've just made you breakfast. You were talking in your sleep and I thought I might wake you up. You weren't making a lot of sense." The detective looked at him with a look of confusion. "Oh. Yes. Right. Thank you." He replied, sounding fully awoken now.

"You do look quite funny when you're sleeping though." John continued with a smirk. "You should see yourself, too bad I didn't film you or took a picture like Lestrade did last time when you weren't… normal."

"Oh, shut up." Sherlock replied, but he was also grinning, and then they both cracked up at the memory of the time Greg Lestrade had filmed drugged Sherlock and had shown it to whole Scotland Yard.

After they both had finished laughing, they looked at each other and John couldn't resist the urge of kissing Sherlock, so so he did. The detective welcomed his kiss a little surprised, but pulled John closer, who intertwined his hands in Sherlocks curls what made him gasp and he began kissing John more passionately.

John couldn't help but notice how good his friend was at all of this, knowing that he'd probably never kissed anyone before him. But to be honest, he didn't mind at all.

After a while Sherlock broke the kiss, without pulling away from John he said: "Well, shall we have breakfast then? I'm quite hungry actually." John smiled and placed one last small kiss on his lips. "Never thought I'd hear you say that." He replied, pulling back from their embrace to get their plates.

Sherlock and John ate their breakfast silently, snuggled up against each other in Sherlocks bed with a blanket around them and their plates resting on their laps.

After they'd finished their coffee too, the duo made their way to the kitchen where they put their plates in the sink. John put on water for tea, and while he was busy he braced himself for beginning the conversation with Sherlock he'd planned to begin.

"Sherlock, you know I need some explanation. You need to start telling me things."

There was a silence, and for a moment John thought Sherlock hadn't heard him because he was busy "thinking" or something else involving his "mind palace", so he turned to the living room.

Sherlock was sitting in his armchair. He was wearing his blue dressing gown, and had a newspaper next to him. He looked at John and finally said: "What do you want to know?"

John tried to read Sherlocks expression as he sat down on the chair opposite of him, but failed, so he finally just said: "Everything."

"All right." Sherlock took a deep breath and began talking and.

For the first time in his life he did not exactly know where to begin.

"Moriarty was there, too. On the rooftop of St. Barts. He said to me that all my friends would die if I didn't. I knew his strategy. I had figured him out, so let's say I had had time to prepare myself for what was coming. Not much, and I wasn't entirely positive that it would work. There still was a chance that I wouldn't survive. He told me he had people ready. One for you, one for Lestrade, and one for Mrs. Hudson." When John heard his landlady's name, wondered how in the bloody hell he was supposed to bring to her that Sherlock Holmes was still alive without her having a heart attack. But he decided that would come later. Sherlock continued. "He then said that as long as he was alive, I would have a chance to save them, including myself. Then he shot himself in the head." Sherlock paused, and John just stared at him." There was no body found on the rooftop, obviously. His men would have taken care of that. Anyway, I knew that I had to jump and it would have to look real. For that you had to be there. You had to witness everything. Otherwise it couldn't work. I needed you to tell everyone what I told you. People had to believe I was really gone, especially you. I couldn't risk telling you anything, you'd probably end up being killed. I couldn't take care of it all alone. I needed someone who could help me find a body, and the only trustworthy person who could help me with that was Molly. She was the only one who could know. I'm sorry. After that, when everyone thought I was dead, I spend months hunting every single one of Moriarty's men down. That wasn't too hard, as long as everyone kept believing I was dead, I could take care of it. You know I once said that Moriarty was a spider in the middle of a criminal web. Well, a web isn't much anymore without a big spider. His men were much less dangerous without him. Many of them worked for him because he had forced them to by threatening them. So obviously a lot of them left his so-called web when the news of his death had reached them. Almost all of them left the country and weren't considered dangerous anymore. However, I still have people watching some of them." He paused. "Yes. At some point I had to tell Mycroft. He was the only person who could help me with that task. I also asked him if he could put you under some sort of protection at some point. I would check if you were alright whenever I could, but I was abroad almost all the time, so I often couldn't see how you were doing and if you were in danger. I obviously arranged that none of Mycrofts men knew why they were watching you and those people or for who. It was not like they cared anyway. Like I said, there were a lot of them who left, but the more important ones could still form a threat. Accomplices that were like his left or right hand. High functions, tight security, and well-hidden. I had to take them down one at a time, making sure no one knew because of who or what they'd disappeared. I have to admit I had some difficulties with some of them due to their locations that were often difficult to track, but none of them were Moriarty, so once I'd found them, I could always outsmart them and their little bodyguards. At last I had taken down everything that was left of this so-called web. There was no direct threat anymore, and if there would be, I'd know immediately. I could come home to you, and so I did."

Sherlock stopped talking and took a deep breath. He looked at John, and tried to read his expression in vain, knowing that there was a chance that he would be furious with him for telling his brother and even Molly, but not him. He knew there was also a chance that John would understand him, like he always had done, and as he was the only person in the world who ever did.

There was a silence that lasted for minutes. John was processing everything he'd just heard, and tried to avoid Sherlocks piercing gaze, knowing that he was trying to read his thoughts from his expression. He thought everything what he had just heard through for the last time and at last made a decision.

"Okay. Alright. Listen now you idiot. I understand you. I understand you so bloody well that I know why you did everything like you did it and it's okay. I'll leave it like this. But listen to me, if you ever leave me again by doing something like that, I will personally find you and I'll kill you. I'm serious Sherlock, don't ever do something like this again, because I will not be able to handle it another time. Promise me." There was a pause in which John again started to remember everything about how his life had been for the past eight months like a flashback. All the nightmares, the despair and the crushing loneliness. All the times he had just wanted to end it. All the times he had just wished it all to be over. He pushed his thoughts away and took a deep breath before he continued. "And by the way you all ought to explain this yourself to Mrs. Hudson and the rest of everyone you know, because I will not be responsible for any heart attacks." He nodded in the direction of the front door.

Sherlock looked up at John once again, who now met his gaze and saw that his eyes looked regretful, even though Sherlock clearly did his best not to show it. He only said: "I promise, John."

"Alright." John stood up, grabbed Sherlocks hand, and pulled him up out of his chair. "Now you better kiss me, because you've got a lot to make up for, Sherlock Holmes." His friend smirked, and from the moment that their lips met, they both knew that everything would be okay, because after all they were Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.

Consulting Detective and Army Doctor.

Oh my god I can finally sleep thank heavens, maybe that wasn't too good so excuse meee

I have still no idea where I'm going with this but I'll upload a new chapter as soon as possible and thanks for reading :)


	6. Chapter 6

Alright I decided this chapter will be like a flashback-chapter. It's going to be about Johns life one month after Sherlock's "death". I think it's going to be angsty so you have been warned.

By the way, I wanted to thank the people who followed me for it (that'd mean they like my story I assume :')), you're all very very lovely!

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: still don't own anything!

* * *

John Watson stared at the back of his cab drivers seat as he drove through London. The man was talking, but John couldn't hear. Vaguely, in the back of his head, he wondered why he always got the way-too-happy-on-an-early-morning-ones.

It was like someone had pushed a mute button that had caused the whole world to become almost inaudible.

The drivers voice didn't sound like he was sitting in front of John, on a distance of barely 10 inches, but like the way you hear your neighbours next door talk through your walls. Not completely inaudible, but too unclear to actually make out what they're saying.

Muted.

In some way John liked it better like this, in his own world. He could feel almost numb sometimes if he tried really hard. He knew there was pain, loads of pain. And sorrow. And loneliness. Guilt. Hopelessness. He could keep most of it out like this by shutting everything down when he had the chance.

At least he tried very hard to.

If he concentrated enough on the sound of the man's voice, he could hear it like he normally did. If he concentrated and tried harder, he could make himself form words, too. Words that could start a conversation, or words that could tell the bloody man to shut up and just take him to his destination without all the chit-chat. But he didn't want to. He didn't feel like a part of this world anymore. He felt cut-off. Unreal. Like he was dreaming. Not able to function like he normally would have done.

_Normally_. What that meant. He figured he could barely remember. He wondered if there had ever been a "normally" in his life. He sure as hell did know that there never would be one again.

"Normally" for John had been the time in his life he'd spent with Sherlock Holmes. His best friend, partner in crime, the man he secretly loved.

Sherlock Holmes.

The name sounded unreal to John. It sounded like the name of someone he had once met in a life he never thought he'd have. Someone who had made him feel alive. Someone who had saved him from everything a person could be saved of. Someone who he'd loved to death, even though he'd never really shown it.

He knew Sherlock had really been there, even though at times John was so detached from everything that he'd almost forget he had been real. He could remember their times together. All the things the Consulting Detective had brought into his life at the time he had needed it most. At the time he needed someone like him most, even though he'd never thought his happiness would come in the form of a thin man with black curls and the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen in a long black coat with a blue scarf.

But all of that didn't matter anymore. Now Sherlock Holmes was just a memory of a ghost.

Through his thoughts, John heard a muffled voice repeating something. He turned his gaze to the window of the cab he was sitting in. It had stopped, and was now parked in front of a big gate that said "City of London Cemetery". John realized the driver was talking loudly to him now and forced himself to wake up from his muted-self.

The sounds of the real world started to come back. John was greeted by a faint sound of birds chirping, along with the wind blowing through the cemetery gates, what caused one of the big iron fences to squeak at every blow.

"Mate, are you even listening? I have other customers too, you know, so you might as well start hearing something. Hey mate, are you deaf? Hello?"

"Er, yes. Sorry. I'll just…" John didn't know what to say, so he just tossed the cabbie 30 pounds and got out of the car with a little difficulty because of his cane before he could say another word.

As John walked towards the entrance of the cemetery, the wind began to blow even harder than it had before. John shivered and he stopped to take a moment to turn up his coat collar.

Somewhere in the back of his head a conversation about coat collars he'd had in another life came up.

"_Oh, please. Can we not do this, this time?" _

"_Do what?"_

"_You being all mysterious with your cheekbones and turning your coat collar up so you look cool."_

"_I don't do that."_

"_Yeah, you do."_

As John walked past long lanes of gravestones, he vaguely wondered why he'd come here in the first place. It was not that any of these visits mattered anymore. It was not like they would make anything better and John knew that slowly, bit by bit, he would be expected to move on.

The truth was that at first everyone understands. Everyone wants to be there for you. Everyone feels sorry for you.

But then, after a considerable amount of days, weeks, months, people start moving on. And they start wanting you to do the same. To pick up the thread. To forget about it.

But John couldn't. Sherlock had been such a great part of his life that couldn't just "move on" without the detective like nothing ever happened, and even if he could, he wasn't sure if he wanted to.

John had stopped. He had been so lost in his own thoughts that at first he hadn't even noticed. He had his head down and was staring at his shoes. He looked up.

As he saw the gravestone with the engraving, reality hit him hard, like a hard punch in the face. John stared, and even though he had come here countless times in the past month, it always felt like it was the first. He just couldn't get used to seeing his best friends name engraved on a cold black stone on a cemetery, knowing his lifeless body was buried here between the dead.

The stone said nothing but his name. Nothing about what an amazing person he had been. Nothing about all the crucial things he'd once done for Scotland Yard and so many other people. Nothing about how he would be missed by family or friends.

Just a name. Nothing more.

And so John started to talk. He always did when he came here. He didn't believe in ghosts or dead people who could see what the living were doing whatsoever, but he figured this was the place where he felt like he was closest to Sherlock besides the flat. At least here he had something to talk to, even though it was only a black stone with a name on it.

If someone would ask him what he told Sherlock during his visits to his grave, John wouldn't know. He honestly mostly just talked about the things he'd done that day. From how he had spent the whole day at the flat, telling Sherlock every detail of it. How he'd made tea, and how he always forgot that he had to make just one cup now, cursing his foolishness. To what crappy tv show had been on the telly last night and how stupid Sherlock had found it if he'd seen it.

"You know, Sherlock. I've started drinking my coffee with two sugars since today. You know, like you did. I'm sure you'd find it amusing if you would be here. I feel kind of closer to you when I do it. Because well, if I can't make us both coffee and I have to chose one of them to make, I'll just make yours because you're far more important than a cup of black coffee without sugar. I actually think I quite like drinking it like this anyway, so thanks for the tip."

If he'd eaten, he would tell Sherlock, too. Saying that he had been right about eating being overrated all along, but still telling him he had had his toast with strawberry jam and butter on a slice of brown bread.

He mostly just kept telling Sherlock how boring everything was, and how he wished he'd come back to him and how he missed him.

"When I was with you I realized for the first time London was actually quite fun. When we were out together and you started deducing people about whatsoever, I realized there are so many untold stories everywhere, and I got so curious about every single one of them because of you. I genuinely started liking it here.

But then you were gone, and you still are. And it is boring again, everyone is the same. I can't read them like you could, Sherlock. I miss your little deduction thingys, along with you inflicting your opinions on the world even though they mostly were far too outspoken and incredibly rude. I still miss them, and everything else you talked to me about. I just miss you and I wish you'd come back. I really hope you will, even if it's not… well, in this life. And you have to remember that I'll always believe in you and I hope you're doing well."

One time he'd spent hours screaming. Insulting his friend for leaving him just like that, with nothing. With no life and no hope.

"Today I realized that I shouldn't be nice to you at all. I am, but I really shouldn't. I always tell you about what my life is like now in the tiniest detail and everything and how I miss you and how I do all these stupid things because of you even though you're not here anymore.

You wanna know why I'm mad? Well I'll bloody tell you why. Because you left. You left without saying a bloody thing. Just like that. Just with nothing but a phone call while you were standing on some stupid rooftop, telling me that I should watch. Watch? Can you actually believe it, Sherlock? Why did I have to watch? Why? I really don't understand you, and I hate you for doing this to me. I hate you, do you hear me?! Why did you have to come bursting into my life at the moment I needed someone like you most? And what the hell gives you the right to just pop out like that? I hate it that I met you. I hate it. I hate you. I wish I had just stayed in that bloody army pension, you know that?"

He just talked and talked. Sometimes for hours, sometimes for just minutes. And sometimes he just sat there, staring at an engraving with the name of a ghost. Saying nothing for hours, often until the cemetery would close and the gardener had to throw him out, mocking at him that they were closing the gates and he should go home.

Today John told Sherlock that Lestrade had called him that morning, asking him to come with him to a crime scene. And that he'd said no because crime scenes were boring if Sherlock wasn't around, just like everything else.

"It's not that I don't want to go, because I do, but I don't want to be alone. It's not the same without you, you know. Nothing is the same without you."

And once again, John spend the evening talking to his friend. When he stopped talking, he realized it was getting darker and darker and he figured he had to go.

"Alright Sherly, time to go. I'll speak to you again, soon."

John glanced at the grave for one more time before turning around and then started to limp back to the entrance of the cemetery along long lanes of other gravestones.

But then he remembered something and turned around.

"Er, I don't know if I've told you already, but I've been having these kind of funny dreams about you. I often dream about you on that rooftop and then I see you jump, but in the dreams I can't move. I can only watch you again and again and I just don't know what to do.

But then I have these other dreams about our first meeting in the laboratory, and I experience everything all over again. From the moment I met Mike Stamford in that park to you saying your name and address before disappearing again with a wink. And sometimes it seems so real that I wake up smiling. Then it takes me a couple of seconds to realize that you're not asleep in the bedroom below me, but that you're just gone. That's the part I hate about those ones.

But then there's a dream I've been having since just a couple of days ago. In that dream I know you're dead, but you come back. And the scenario of your comeback changes in every dream. Sometimes you just come bursting through the door with bags full of supplies from the grocery store, saying you got the milk, you idiot. And sometimes you just call me, or text me, or you just ring the doorbell and when I open it it's you standing there. Just as I remember you. And then you hug me and you say that it'll all be okay and that you're here now. When I wake up from those ones, even though I know you're gone, I feel almost happy for a moment. I know it's a silly fantasy, but I'll always be ready for you if you come home. I really hope you do someday, because I love you and I miss you and I'm kind of lost without you."

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well I have no idea if that was good I'm a little anxious about this chapter but I hope you like it because it was quite heartbreaking to write omg

Reviews are still very welcome and I'll upload a new chapter as soon as possible and thank you so much for reading :)


	7. Chapter 7

Alright I decided this will be the last chapter. I originally planned to make this a one-shot thingy but as I started writing I decided I'd just do a couple of chapters more.

I really don't have a clue what else I should do with this story. I'll continue from where chapter 5 ended, and I'm so sorry if this isn't any good but I'm just not quite good at endings and ughhh

But I absolutely enjoyed writing it and I hope you enjoyed reading it :) (whoever you are, you're lovely)

Kisses!

excuse the grammar by the way

* * *

_Two weeks later._

"John! Wake up. Why are you sleeping when we have far more crucial things to do today? Wake up!"

John Watson opened his eyes and was greeted by the smell of coffee and Sherlock's hand patting his face. The detective saw John had awoken and placed a small kiss on his forehead before jumping back from the bed, looking way too excited.

"See? There you go, I've made you coffee. Now get dressed so we can get to the crime scene before our body starts decomposing while waiting for you to get up." After those words, Sherlock rushed out of the room, leaving John slightly disorientated. The doctor sighed, but got up. He drank his coffee, grabbed some clothes, and stumbled towards the shower. On his way he heard Sherlock pacing up and down the living room downstairs. He sighed again as he closed the bathroom door.

It had been two weeks since Sherlock had come back from the dead. Two weeks since John had kissed him and two weeks since Sherlock had actually kissed back. Now they weren't just Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, the brilliant detective with the funny hat and his side-kick blogger. They were more than that. Boyfriends? Lovers? John had figured there wasn't really a word that described what they "were". To each other they were still just Sherlock and John, the duo who couldn't live without each other. And they were fine with that

It was time to get things back to normal, even though it wouldn't go that easy. John still had nightmares, and he often would forget Sherlock was really there. Gasping for breath as he walked into the living room and saw him sit in his chair, convinced he was dreaming or that Sherlock was some kind of hallucination.

But he would be okay, and Sherlock did everything he could to ensure that. He would calm John down when he had just had a nightmare or an attack, and helped him accept the fact that he was really there at moments John needed him to. According to him, the nightmares would slowly start to become less, and so would the panic attacks. He seemed sure and John trusted him on it, as he always did.

Today they would have their first case together in almost a year. Lestrade had phoned Sherlock that morning, telling him that apparently there had been something interesting going on, judging Sherlocks behavior. Or maybe his enthusiasm was just because he hadn't had a good case in what seemed ages to him. But that seemed unimportant to John. He was already happy enough to see that Scotland Yard had consulted him in the first place. Considering everyone had been thinking he was dead for eight bloody months and the news of his return had been on all the headlines of every paper in London for a couple of days.

Now it seemed that people were slowly losing interest in "That Detective Who Came Back From The Dead". They had enough things on their minds, and they didn't really care quite enough to find out what exactly had happened. Most of them believed it had just been some kind of funny hoax, anyway. Now everything had become a little quieter. Sherlock being Sherlock, of course had ignored all the attention and requests for interviews or whatsoever as much as he could. Ensuring that, he'd stayed inside all day for at least a week, insisting John would do the same, and letting Mrs. Hudson (who honestly had almost had a heart attack after finding out he was still alive) do all the grocery shopping if any needed.

And so John entered the living room, dressed and well. Slightly amused at the sight of his friend, who was now looking more impatient than ever.

"Come on then, I thought we had a case." he said to a way too excited looking Sherlock who was sitting in his chair, impatiently tapping his foot on the ground. As he saw John he jumped up, and almost flew towards the front door as he yelled "Finally! Mrs. Hudson, were off out!". He grabbed his coat and scarf as he already started running down the stairs. At the sight of this, John just shook his head and followed.

The taxi ride to the crime scene was an absolute torture for both Sherlock and John. The detective constantly snarling at the highly irritated cabbie that he had to buck up, and that he was obviously making detours. John trying to calm him down by saying that bodies couldn't just walk away from a scene and that they would get there in time.

And finally, after what seemed like ages from Sherlocks point of view and like the longest cab ride of his life from Johns, they arrived.

They were standing in front of a horribly posh looking house, and the bright yellow tapes that were strung around it looked very out of place. You could say the same of all the policemen in their neon green outfits that hurt your eyes. As John looked up and down the street he saw the other houses in it looked almost identical. All with an old-fashioned exterior, and very decent looking lawns.

The building that had to be the crime scene was surrounded by police cars, and its front lawn was full of policemen talking to each other and taking notes. Some men in special-looking suits were entering the house, a couple of them had photo cameras with them.

John wondered what exactly could have happened here. It was not really the street where you'd expect a murderer to strike. Especially because all these houses probably had a very good alarm system. So if they were speaking of murder, the killer had probably known the victim, considering it would be quite impossible to just break in somewhere.

"Ah, Anderson, such a pleasure as always." John's thoughts were interrupted by Shelocks voice. He had spotted Anderson, who had been busy scrabbling something in his notebook and was looking more annoyed than ever.

"Don't you ever think that just because you popped out for a few months and came back because of some magic trick that I should tolerate you now. The fact that Greg wants you in, doesn't mean I have to agree. And this is still my investigation, for the record. Are we clear?"

"Quite clear. Thank you, Anderson. Nice to see you again. And I also cannot help but notice that you have something red on your lower lip. I am still not implying any unnecessary things, but isn't it just the case that Sergeant Donovan is wearing the exact same lipstick color today? It really seems nothing has changed in my temporarily resignation. How nice." Before Anderson could respond to this, one of the police men in the neon green outfits turned around at the sound of her name and smirked.

"Oh hey, Freak. You again? I've quite enjoyed ten months without you contaminating our crime scenes. Shame you couldn't stay away for a little longer. But you'd do everything to come back to your boyfriend, right? Really understandable." She nodded at John, who blushed slightly and didn't know what to say, with a look of satisfaction on her face.

Sherlock just gave her his most innocent smile. "Oh yes Sally, you ought to be right. But that wasn't too difficult to deduce, was it?"

With these words he grabbed Johns hand, and turned his head towards the doctor. John understood the link and couldn't help but smirk as he got what Sherlock was doing. He leaned in and before someone could say something the two were snogging each other in front of an utterly confused looking Anderson and Donovan, who for once didn't know what to say.

As he pulled back, Sherlock pushed the two of them aside. Not letting go of Johns hand, who mumbled: "Now people won't ever stop talking." Sherlock laughed and as he turned his head to his friend he mumbled back: "Well, at least we gave them something to talk about."

"Now where is Lestrade. I thought we had a case to solve, hadn't we?"

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THE END


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